


No Time for Subtlety (Rivamika Week 2015)

by alienheartattack (Sanneke)



Series: Captain and Right Hand AU [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Closet Sex, F/M, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanneke/pseuds/alienheartattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa and Levi have finally admitted their feelings for one another, but the Survey Corps’ demanding schedule doesn’t leave much time for them to spend alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Time for Subtlety (Rivamika Week 2015)

They have danced around each other for so long, it feels silly to Levi to stop now. He has always appreciated the beauty of waiting, of letting things unfurl in their own time, whether it is part of a plan of attack or the simple pleasure of steeping a cup of smoky black tea poached from the gentry’s stores. Or like this thing that is happening, this mutual attraction hovering between himself and Mikasa.

They have kissed twice now, once in his room on Valentine’s Day and once out on an expedition when she woke up in the middle of the night to find him watching the dying fire, pressing his thumb against the flat shiny surface of his blade so he would have something to polish away. She crept out into the woods to relieve herself, squatting behind a thick-trunked fir.

“Mikasa,” Levi whispered as she walked back to her spread cloak on the ground, not moving from his spot before the fire. “Come here.”

She obeyed and sat beside him, her legs loosely crossed. “Yes?” she asked, turning to him. Without a word Levi’s mouth covered hers, swallowed her question, opened her up so he could run his tongue along hers. Mikasa had been kissed before, by him even, but never like this, never with this urgency, this ferocity. He pulled her close, started unbuttoning her shirt.

She put her hands over his, stopping him. “What are you doing?”

“We don’t have much time,” Levi whispered. “To, uh, do stuff.”

“Oh!” she gasped. “Our conversation.” Said conversation comprised about ten words between them a few days earlier, expressing the desire to — well, neither of them could say the word, but they still agreed they wanted to do it. The irony (hypocrisy, in Levi’s eyes) was not lost on either of them. Still Mikasa hesitated, blindsided by this unexpected development, stilling as Levi slid his hand down, the tips of his fingers tunneling beneath the waistband of her trousers.

“I just peed,” she whispered, and he drew his hand away. She frowned. “I did wipe, you know.”

“I trust you,” he said, stroking her cheek with the backs of two fingers. “But maybe some other time. Go back to sleep; we have to be up in three hours to start the charge back to camp.”

Mikasa sighed and nodded, buttoned her shirt, trudged back to the place where her cloak laid waiting for her to collapse back onto it. She did, curling up in a ball and shoving one hand between her legs to stem the throbbing there. She didn’t even try to touch herself; the only release she wanted, the only one she still wants, is the one that Levi will give her.

She just doesn’t know when that will be.

Nearly a month after that, four weeks of heated glances and no opportunities to be alone together, Mikasa feels as though she is about to combust. She wants to ask Eren about those smoke-filled moments when his central nervous system becomes subsumed by his Titan form, the feeling of exploding out of his own body, because she is absolutely sure that she feels the same way about the Captain.

They have had a chance to touch exactly one time in the last four weeks. He put his hand on her shoulder briefly while talking to her in front of the squad, some nonsense about packing the supply cart with extra blankets or something equally inane, and from that simple contact she squeezed her thighs together, felt herself growing wet. After Mikasa and Levi were done speaking, she had to check herself in a mirror because she was sure that there was a stain darkening the front of her trousers, giving her away to the entire squad. There was not. (She said a thankful prayer then for being born a woman; she would hate to find herself hiding after every encounter with the Captain, the outline of an erection perfectly visible through her tight pants. Only Sasha and Armin seem to have caught on to her new romance, and she prefers it this way.)

By the time Mikasa finally finds her opportunity, she feels frenzied, about to leap through her own skin. She wakes up a little earlier than usual on a Wednesday morning to find the Captain strolling outside on his morning walk, visible through the barracks window.

She rolls out of bed, creeps over to the window. “Levi!” she hisses through the small open space. He stops, looks around for the source of the noise. Mikasa runs back to her bunk and slides on her worn woolen slippers before swiftly and quietly slipping out the door to meet him.

He looks at her with a confused glance. “What are you doing? Reveille isn’t for another half hour,” he says, shooing her away with one hand.

“What’s the closest private place to here? So we can do stuff. Have sex,” she blurts in a soft rush.

Levi’s eyes go wide and then he twists his mouth into a thoughtful frown, then a smile. “I got it,” he says, then takes her hand and leads her two buildings over, to a small utility closet on the side of a supply warehouse. A craggy rounded bulb of ore hangs from the ceiling, bathing the room in a dim bluish glow. There are a few shelves lining one wall, a basin and a couple of brooms resting against the opposite side of the room. Levi pulls Mikasa in and locks the door behind her, then pauses for a moment to look at her, the way the otherworldly light highlights her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. She looks down at him, at the reverent gaze on his face, and smiles.

“You are really beautiful,” he murmurs. She lets out a soft laugh — a giggle? he wonders, baffled and overjoyed and, if he is being honest, a bit moved at being able to inspire this reaction in the normally stoic Mikasa — and his stomach does a thing it has never done before, burning and tingling and twisting all at once in the best possible way. And suddenly the fact that his lips are not touching hers becomes unbearable and he gathers her in his arms, pulling her down to him so he can take her mouth. She moans against his lips, which spurs him to start lifting her rough-spun nightgown.

“Yes,” she breathes, then pulls the fabric from his hands and lifts it upward, gathering the hem beneath her armpits so she is exposed to him from her breasts down to where her bare feet disappear into her slippers.

Levi wants to say something, wishes he had the knowledge to say something eloquent about what she looks like, curves traced in iridescent blue, her skin perfectly luminescent. She deserves poetry, but he only knows filthy limericks and barroom shanties, both courtesy of Kenny. “Fuck,” he pants. “You are…” He trails off, trying to find the words. He sighs and shakes his head when he can only come up with one word: “Everything.”

It sounds silly to him, just ridiculous, but Mikasa looks over at him with those huge dark eyes and they start to sparkle with moisture. She bites her lip, then leans forward to capture his mouth and nip at his lower lip. He groans against her, then moves downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to one side of her neck before moving to her small, firm breasts, drawing a nipple between his lips. He cups her breast with one hand, uses the other to steady her as she writhes beneath his grasp. Her back arches when his teeth graze against the little bud so he holds her closer, tighter, pressing her body against his. She lets out little muffled cries as he focuses all of his attention, all of his frustration for the last few months, on this little bit of flesh.

Levi moves his mouth to her other breast, repeating his motions and trying to see how many times he can make her gasp. (He loses count after seven.) He resettles his free hand on her hip, rubbing over the hardened and segmented muscles there, the slight protrusion of her hipbone before moving further down, where her skin is softer, warmer, then wet and scorching hot. His fingers are rough, searching, until he finds a position and a rhythm that makes her hips grind against his, tight little movements that serve to bring him in closer contact, to stroke her more firmly.

“Has anyone ever kissed you down there before?” Levi whispers into her ear, his fingers still working away.

Mikasa’s eyes widen, then flutter closed as Levi dips one finger inside her. “No,” she whimpers.

“Would you let me?”

She hesitates, looking at him before another frisson of pleasure makes her close her eyes once more. “Do we have time?”

“Not much. Definitely not as much as I’d like,” Levi says with a smile.

“How much time is that?” she asks.

“A week?” he offers, kneeling before her. She lets out a soft laugh, quietly musical, which makes him lean in and press a hard kiss to the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “It’s not your first time with a guy, is it?”

Mikasa shakes her head, then says, “No. It’s my second.”

“Oh,” he remarks, but says nothing more on the subject. He starts stroking her gently with one finger while he looks up at her, watching her face as it slackens in pleasure, little electric jolts running through her body. “May I?” She nods at him, peers down at him as he spreads her folds apart with his fingers and kisses her, his lips and tongue closing over her slippery, sensitive flesh. Mikasa’s knees start to buckle and she braces herself against the shelves as she watches Levi, his eyes closed as he works his mouth against her, soft and firm, teasing and stroking. She stifles a breathy moan; Levi responds in turn, groaning against her, then moving one hand away from her so he can undo the fly of his trousers and free his cock. He runs his fist up it, hoping to relieve some of the tension that has built there.

He bites his lip hard and looks up at her, his hand slowly working away between his legs. “I need to fuck you,” he breathes. The words seem foreign in his mouth, this vulgar expression of desire, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

Mikasa nods and reaches down to grab his free hand so she can pull him to his feet. She embraces him as he stands, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. Her nightgown starts to fall so she takes it off and stashes it on the shelf behind her. Levi’s shirt follows. Mikasa reaches out to touch his chest, run an exploratory finger over the scrapes and scars that mar his skin.

She leans forward and presses her lips to a thick, ridged scar, then flicks her tongue over one peaked nipple. “How are we going to do this?”

“I could bend you over,” he breathes, his voice deep and raspy. He sounds like a starving man, practically trembling before a sumptuous feast, torn between devouring and savoring the woman before him. “The angle might be weird. Or I could hold you up.”

A mildly concerned look crosses her face, at odds with the hunger in her eyes. “Do you think you could do that?”

“Humanity’s Strongest,” he jokes, cocking one eyebrow at her. “I could brace you up against that wall.” He points his thumb behind him.

Mikasa lets out a soft moan, biting her lip as she imagines the rough wood against her back, Levi’s hands cradling her hips, her legs crossed around his waist. “I like that.”

He smiles and lets out a low growl as he takes her mouth once more, kissing her passionately, grabbing her by her shoulders and turning her around, then steering her until she is backed up against the opposite wall. His hands briefly stray from her body to shove his pants down, the fabric bunching around his knees, before returning and settling against the curve of her waist. Mikasa lifts one leg and rests it over Levi’s hip; in one smooth motion he grips his cock in one loose fist and thrusts forward, sliding into her. He groans as he feels her, hot and slick around him, hears her make a similar sound from deep in her throat.

Levi presses his hips to hers and slowly grinds her against the wall. Then he adjusts his hands lower, palming her hips and ass, so he can support her weight. Mikasa braces her back against the wall and lifts her other leg, tentatively wrapping it around Levi’s waist.

“You got me?” she asks cautiously as she settles around him.

He smirks, then digs his fingers into her flesh and pulls back, drives into her. She cries out in surprise and arousal. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it,” he jokes, taking her mouth as he starts to fuck her. He switches it up a little, first bracing her against the wall, then leaning back and carrying her full weight, letting her buck and writhe on him, allowing gravity and the steel and sinew in her to do the work. Mikasa throws her head back as she rides him, making little incoherent noises with each rise and fall of her body.

“Feel good?” Levi asks, burying his face in Mikasa’s neck to nibble at the skin there. He pushes her back up against the wall and pins her hips there as well, holding her still so he can thrust harder, move faster.

“Yes!” she yelps, her fingers clutching against the bunched muscles of his shoulders, then scratching against his skin as she is overwhelmed by ecstasy, the simple crude mechanics of their bodies inspiring a passion in her that still seems unfathomable even as it consumes her. Mikasa bites her lip and looks down at Levi, at his mixed expression of focused concentration and utter bliss, then smiles at the sight. It is rare to see him like this, his emotions written nakedly on his face. She wishes she could see it more often.

“The next rest day we have,” Levi says, pressing his nose to hers as he thrusts into her, withdraws, thrusts again, steady and slow, “I want you in my quarters fifteen minutes after reveille.”

“Is that an order?” Mikasa asks, her breaths moving in and out in time with his movements.

“It is.” His tone is matter-of-fact but he smiles as he speaks the short barked sentence. “It’s so we have as much time as possible to spend together.”

“All day in your quarters.” She sighs at the thought, her lips turning up in a seductive smile. “I like it.”

“We’ll start there,” he pants, gazing at her, his eyes like molten steel. “There’s an abandoned farm a few miles outside of the town.”

She furrows her brow. “Why do you want to go there?”

Levi closes his eyes, momentarily distracted by the friction and the heat between them, a nascent orgasm starting to stir in his lower belly. “There’s an apple orchard,” he murmurs. “It’s beautiful. We could… I was thinking we could make love there. So I can see you in the daylight.” This revelation already feels like ripping his chest open and baring his heart and his secrets to her, so he does not mention the rest of the fantasy: her sun-dappled skin against the grass, him plucking apple blossoms from the trees and weaving them in her dark strands, encouraging her to be as loud as she likes as he tries to wring every last drop of pleasure from her pliant body.

His most closely guarded secret, beneath the trauma of his youth, the stigma of his blood, the lives he’s taken, is that beneath everything, Levi Ackerman is a hopeless romantic. Even when he thinks he has nothing left, when he suffers another catastrophic loss, there is still a small indestructible part of him that continues to live on, to love as hard as he fights. With her by his side he feels that part of him growing and expanding, if only a little.

Mikasa, meanwhile, is practically stunned by Levi’s words, the intensity of finally being able to consummate whatever she has with the Captain overwhelming her senses even before he tells her of this secret desire. It is so unexpected, so unlike how she initially imagined him (this conception revised many times over, then utterly revolutionized after finding out the notes and the candy were from him, not Jean or some lovestruck cadet), that tears spring to her eyes.

“I would like that very much,” she says, because it feels inappropriate to tell Levi that she thinks she loves him while he’s fucking her for the first time, pinning her up against a wall in a supply closet. (Though, she wonders, perhaps the position itself is irrelevant when they move in time with each other as perfectly choreographed as when they fight; when they stare deeply into one another’s eyes; when their breaths and cries intermingle between their lips. This must be making love, she thinks. It has to be.)

Then faintly, through the wooden walls of the closet, they hear the familiar trumpet blasts alerting the Survey Corps to wake up, to wash, to line up squad by squad for inspection in fifteen minutes.

“Fuck,” they sigh simultaneously, somewhere between desire and disappointment, followed by a shared laugh. Mikasa leans forward and nuzzles her nose against Levi’s, then kisses the slightly upturned tip.

“Did you finish?” he asks in a softly concerned voice.

“No,” she says, “but I’ll be okay. You finish. You can owe me one for next time.” She flashes him an impish grin, challenging him.

Levi returns her smile, then kisses her greedily, claiming her lips and her tongue with his, catching her lower lip between his teeth as he pulls his mouth away. “I’ll give you more than that the next time I get to be with you.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she giggles, sweeping his sweat-soaked hair out of his face with the tips of her trembling fingers. He looks away from her for a moment, his cheeks darkening further than they have from his light flush of exertion.

Then Levi increases his tempo and she clamps her mouth shut, stifling her moans. His breaths come hard and fast through his clenched teeth as his eyes slip closed, concentrating on the pressure building in his hips and thighs, on the feeling of Mikasa’s sex pulsing gently around his cock. He notes the latter with satisfaction, then swallows a sharp moan as he spills into her, pressing her harder against the wall with one final forward drive. Mikasa wraps her arms around him, resting one hand atop his head, holding him to her chest. He gasps and sighs against her perspiring skin, slightly salty under his lips. When he is finished he pulls out of her, then helps her lower her shaking legs back to the ground.

Levi walks over to the shelves, grabbing his shirt and her nightgown. They both dress hurriedly, not meeting one another’s eyes as they each silent curse their responsibility, their duty to humanity, for forcing them to grasp any small moment they can.

“I should go,” Mikasa says. “I probably only have ten minutes or so to shower.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, then grabs her hand and yanks her to his chest, planting a fierce kiss on her lips. “Better get a move on.”

She looks at him, at his stern expression, which falters after a moment into a bashful smile. “Yes, sir,” she says sweetly, then slips out the door.

Thirteen minutes later, she sprints out to the training ground and joins the orderly row of soldiers in her squad, taking her position at the far end, next to Connie. Her hair is still damp, hanging down from her head in a heavy dark sheet; her clothes are rumpled and in disarray. It is the best she has been able to do in the time given, though admittedly she spent a few extra minutes in the shower, running her hands over her slightly sore body, between her swollen and soaked folds, to try to calm the tempest within her. Their next rest day is not for another ten days, though her mind is already scheming, trying to figure the soonest they can possibly disappear for an hour or so without anyone noticing that the Captain and his right hand are missing.

“You’re late,” Levi notes with semi-feigned distaste as he walks by her, noting her disheveled appearance, “and you’re not up to standard.” He pulls at the folded-back collar of her shirt, rearranging it so it sits neatly beneath the lapels of her khaki jacket. “That’s better.” He pulls his hand away, surreptitiously caressing the ridge of her collarbone.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Mikasa apologizes. Her voice is flat and matter-of-fact as it always is with him, but she subtly lifts one corner of her mouth as a signal to him, a loving riposte:  _It’s your fault I’m late._  “It won’t happen again.”

They both know, of course, that it will.


End file.
